Shatter
by o-seastarved
Summary: Two shot. Chuck and Blair share two dark and intimate moments together a year apart right after Nate, and later Jack come between them. But is each third party responsible for Chuck and Blair's problems or do they shatter and break themselves?
1. Chapter 1

_Summary: Follows right after the bar scene in 1x13. Chuck and Blair meet in an alley. "He witnessed his own personal hell right in those russet irises. He refused to let himself become a shell. He refused to let her ruin him. And she would; she would consume him." Part one of a two-shot, the second part will take place post 2x14. _

_Rating: T, but on the heavy side for descriptions of thematically dark sex. _

_A/N: Hey guys. First, thanks my lovely beta and friend Lynne, who I was not at all scared to send this to, and who helped me with my first dark-sad-mature-sex-piece. Basically I was inspired to just write something really heavy and dark for a change. Chuck and Blair are just so complex and deep I can't help myself. Also I believe the bar scene is absolute perfection. I also didn't want this to be current because there is so much JBC stuff out there right now, but I wanted to make it thematically relevant to the show currently. I haven't written the second part yet, so please please read and review! I'm dying to know what you think. _

* * *

He shattered something else.

Hands wringing in front of him, head bent, he took a deep breath and shoved the barstool backwards violently, propelling off of it and heading for the door. He hit the cool glass with a brutal pop and all of the bitterness and deadness of winter hit his face.

"Blair!" he yelled.

She turned to face him. "What?!" she cried out harshly, her voice cracking at its peak.

He was standing in front of her and had nothing to say.

_I don't want you anymore._

He had said it all. Meant none of it. Felt all of it.

_Let me be more succinct. _

She was looking at him with so much contempt, her deep, brown eyes wide and swelling with anger and hurt. "What do you want, Chuck?"

He moved closer to her, inches away and his face fell for just an instant. He was no longer guarded, no longer protecting himself and she saw it. She used it.

"You know…" she began, a malicious tint to her voice, "if I were you, I would have rode me a little harder."

His nostrils flared like a steaming bull and he fumed white breath into her face, grasping her upper arms so tight he almost hoped they would pop off.

"Oh yeah?"

She paused, but met his eyes with such vigor and defiance he couldn't help but stare right down into them. He saw his downfall as a man there, in her eyes. He witnessed his own personal hell right in those russet irises. He refused to let himself become a shell. He refused to let her ruin him. And she would; she would consume him.

"Yeah," she whispered right back and he grabbed her face roughly, smashing it to his own, bruising her lips and refusing to let her up for air.

She knew exactly what this meant and what this led to and she wasn't afraid. She hated herself just as much as he hated himself. She might even hate herself a little more than she hated him.

He was goading her to move, with his body against hers, and her feet were moving backwards of their own volition. Her back made contact against a rough, brick wall of an alley as his knee forced her legs apart and urged upward, hard-pressed against her heat. Thick hands held her shoulders back against the wall and she was his to consume now. She was the one burning now, with her fervent, angry kisses and her bucking hips grinding down on his knee. He dragged his mouth away and she whimpered as the dry air met her naked lips, but she recovered from the loss as he began to suck and taste at her neck so tirelessly that she would surely have to hide the evidence of his biting into the forbidden fruit one last time.

"Tell me to stop," he grunted out throatily against her flesh. She moaned but said nothing. His right hand found its way to her shorts and he undid the buttons. Coarse fingers dipped behind the elastic of her orange tights and began their descent downward. He stroked between her folds and felt her slickness. "Tell me to stop, Blair," he bit out forcefully. She said nothing. Instead her fingernails raked against her own flesh as she helped him tear her shorts down until he could get what he wanted from her.

He shoved three fingers inside of her, into Eden, and she cried out at the sudden invasion. He pumped his fingers in and out of her, coaxing the only real heat within miles of them to spill from her and onto him. He worked her roughly and deliberately until he had her mewing against him.

Once he was sure she could no longer hear anything but what he told her to hear, feel anything that he was not doing to her, or see anything clearly except his face in front of hers, he pulled his fingers out and ripped her orange tights with abandon. He quickly relieved his immense erection, which had been trapped within the confinement of his pants and given little attention. Until then, when he thrust into her, hard and to the hilt. She stifled a scream by biting down harshly on his shoulder. He would have a scar now too.

He began to ram into her, heaving her higher and coarsely on the wall. Her eyes were shut tight and she didn't say his name. She didn't look at him. All she could do was moan.

_Rode hard._

"Are you thinking about him?" Chuck's fingers curled and dug deep into her hips. "Did Nate make you moan like this?" His lips were pressed against her ear as he slammed her hips down violently to match every thrust he delivered. "Like a whore?"

She bit her lip in order to reign in the stinging wetness gathering in the corners of her eyes as well as the pressure building deep within her core. But she could not stop it.

"No," she whispered and sent him to his desperate release. He emptied himself inside of her with several more thrusts so deep she thought she might die if he didn't hit her in that spot once more. And when he did the world became blurry and everything broke into oblivion around her, shattering into shards and propelling her towards entropy.

They slumped against each other.

_And put away wet. _

And then it was just her. Wilted against the perfect posture of the wall behind her. The only thing holding her up. She attempted to keep her jaggedly ripped tights on her body and faintly tried to smooth out her crumpled shorts.

She wasn't wanted. She wasn't beautiful, delicate, or untouched.

She was dirty now.

Tarnished.

And he wasn't a shell. He was a million pieces of jagged and broken pride, but he had proven his words to her against a cold, alley wall and at least he was still somewhat there. He existed at least enough so that he could stay afloat in the black water into which he was sinking, if only just to gasp for the air that would keep him going for one more day.

He shattered many things in the interest of self-preservation.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: First of all, I'm so sorry this has taken as long as it has to get out there. At first I was struggling with the concept and then I had an immense amount of school work. This semester is much much more trying than the last. But anyway, here is the conclusion to "Shatter". This takes place post 2x17 but there are not spoilers. And as always, reviews, comments, criticism and the works are welcome and much appreciated! _

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Humidity clung to the plastic molding of windows; its diffused fog to the panes. A thaw met the city finally, and winter was chased away just for a day.

To Blair there was no outside world. The dew-streaked window remained shut; no fresh air was welcome inside, as much as it tried and forced itself to find a crack.

Perhaps she could have used it, but she didn't want it. Writhing atop Chuck Bass had elicited a slight gloss of sweat from her body and she was creating her own humidity. A wet heat that he made her create, made her feel and she hated him for it.

She hated him for it. For the heat. But it's her punishment for letting him do it.

"Come on, Blair," he urged.

So here she was, entirely naked and riding him while his shoes remained firmly planted on the hardwood floor below her bed. Here she was, straddling him, fucking him and he was still clothed. Still civilized, still worldly while she descended into the realm of animalistic, savage need – just like he wanted.

"Chuck," she breathed and it surprised her that his name had escaped from her lips. She didn't want to give him that.

But she gave him everything.

He had appeared at her door after weeks of living in different worlds and leading separate lives. She had told him she was done and he had believed every inch of the tonality and pitch of those two words, even if she hadn't been able to look him in the eye. The harsh angles of his face were so different from that day, when his wounded eyes had tried to plead with her and he was just a little, lost boy. Even though dusk had settled in and its gauzy glow tumbled along the room, she could see the darkness in him once again with such clarity it almost scared her.

He knew.

He circled her like she was prey and she wondered why it was her feet felt like they were buried deep in her floor, up to her ankles in hardened cement. She tried to follow his eyes, but he would disappear behind her and her neck craned at the effort. When he was facing her, she tried again, but his stare was focused on raking up and down her body.

"Please stop," she barely whispered when his thumb stroked her bottom lip.

His other hand found the top button of her blouse and flicked it open.

"I've learned since the last time we spoke, Blair, that nothing you say is credible."

Her skirt was next, loosened and heaped in a puddle around her cemented feet.

"Don't." Her voice was meek and childish.

And she was standing before him in her underwear and open blouse, without the accompaniment of a bra.

"This is what you wanted from me, isn't it?" he asked as he grazed the cloth of her blouse, causing her nipple to harden under him. The feel of a grin etched itself into her shoulder as he peeled the material away from her.

"All that time you told me you were there for me—"

And now her panties were sliding down her legs and his brusque fingers snaked around her ankles and lifted her heavy feet off the ground so that she was utterly bare.

Stripped by him.

"—you just wanted me to fuck you, didn't you?"

And now he was looking her in the eye. Hers stung with tears that she refused to let spill over as she forcefully shook her head and said "No." Over and over again so that she barely noticed his hands on her, his lips, or the course material of his clothes that rubbed gruffly against her bare body.

"Then why?" he growled and the vibrations coursed through to her insides.

"Because he smelled like you."

He'd rammed her then up against the wall; his sudden outburst of passion and fervor nearly knocked the wind out of her. And if it hadn't, then he had sucked it clear out of her when he kissed her. So angrily, so feverishly that she had to break away to gasp for air. While heaving rich, heavy air into her lungs, he had entered her and was then buried so deep within her that she could barely see straight. Taking her so abruptly, with so much brute energy, that he had reduced her to a state of transcendence. She could see gold flecks behind her eyes and all sound—the thud of her back repeatedly hitting the wall behind her and his grunts muffled and diffused into her neck—was far away and reverberated in her head.

She was letting him own her again, take her and claim her and he resented her for falling so easily into the role of docility.

"No," he ground out and stopped his movements.

"What?" she gulped and took in her surroundings. He was pulling her away from the wall and her legs clung around his waist still. Backing up until the backs of his knees felt the mattress and he fell back, holding her still wrapped around him, still inside of her. His hands rested splayed across her thighs but he made no effort to grasp her hips and start again.

"Ride me."

Blair stared at him, inches from his face so that his eyes were out of focus to her. She hesitated, hovering above him. He was going to make her take control, make her work for it, and by doing so she was just as in this thing as he was. She wouldn't be able to blame him afterwards, because she would be the one taking him, screwing him, fucking him.

And he knew she would do it.

She began to move against him, slowly circling her hips and she could feel him responding. He still would not grasp her. When she lifted herself up he would not help her, so she dug her nails deep into his shoulders and used them for leverage before inching herself back down. And up. And down again.

"That's right," he told her and laid a hand against her cheek, his thumb dipping into her mouth and pulling down against her teeth as she suckled it and began to move faster.

By the time she could have used the fresh air from outside, she was too far-gone to need it. Everything she needed was in the frantic movements of her body and in the depths of the man underneath her. So she had let his name fall from her parched lips.

He took everything from her.

"Chuck," she breathed again.

She gave him everything.

He fisted a hand in her hair and pushed the other into the small of her back so that she could feel more molded into him. She leaned in to kiss him, and then the only thing that prevented her from becoming part of him was his shirt.

Subsequently, buttons flew to all corners of her room, the broken threads standing up from the heap the discarded barrier created on the bed. His tie still hung loosely from his neck and she pulled it roughly so that no excess air could possibly make it in between their torsos.

Chuck thought maybe then that she was just as fucked up, just as lost and ruined and shattered as he was. He saw all of the imperfections he failed to see months before when he had held her as a martyr, a holy saint trying miserably to save him.

She was broken in that moment when she clenched even tighter around him and cried out in release. A release he had given her, whether he should have or not, one that he was sure she had not gotten from another. He was sure of that after feeling her shake against him and lose any sense of control over her muscles. It was then that he had to hold her, grasping her hips tightly in order to keep her with him. And when he followed her, and she shook violently again, he thought he might be able to tell her he loved her.

Now that she needed him as much as he had needed her. Now that she was no longer whole. Perhaps they cold love each other then, after having shattered and splintered themselves. The dust would settle.

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_A/N: I hope the parallel between the first chapter and this works out alright and that like the first one where Nate is the third party, Jack is the third party here. But do they really matter or do Chuck and Blair do this to themselves? I hope that despite the darkness, you all liked this. I really wanted to study where Chuck and Blair were in their relationship and in their characters in 1x13 as compared to right now. _

_-Air_


End file.
